


Build It Up To Bring It Down

by UnrequitedHate



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Possible Character Death, fairytale AU, young!annabeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrequitedHate/pseuds/UnrequitedHate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The beautiful golden castle isn't all that it seems and the angel on the swing doesn't know what she's doing.) That day, Annabeth discovered real life. Fairytale AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Build It Up To Bring It Down

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the music video for 'Brick By Boring Brick' by Paramore.

Annabeth is five years old. She's been on this Earth for five years, her mother brought her into the world five years ago, she's lived for five years, however you want to put it. But in her five years, never has she ever visited the big golden castle in the distance, the one that shines and shimmers as the sun rises and turns into a blinding pile of molten gold when it sets. She wants to, though. Oh, yes, she dreams of it every night and every day. But the big, tall castle seems so far away from her sheltered, simple life; it just doesn't feel real to her. Either way, she wants it.

So one day, one day when her parents are away, she picks up her doll and runs out of the house. It's autumn; the orange and brown leaves fall down to form a soft carpet on the ground and the golden sunlight makes her hair shine even brighter than usual. She's running now, the wind blowing her long blond curls into her face, forming tangles her mother will have to get rid of later with that old bone hairbrush she found lying in the forest years ago. It worked magic though, as it still does, so her mother kept it.

Annabeth runs faster. She runs past the man digging a hole in the ground, as he has been for years now; she runs past the angel who seems to eternally sit on that swing of hers, watching the forest folk run past, she runs through trees and meadows of wildflowers and over mud and grass, she wades through ponds and marshland and streams, she crosses bridges, passes through tunnels and forces her way through thick undergrowth. And then she arrives.

It doesn't seem impressive at first: just an old, rotting wooden door, set in crumbling stone bricks. It scares her in way, though: she doesn't know what's hiding behind that door. But then she looks up, sees the sun's rays peeking through the thick branches and leaves of the treetops, smiles, plucks up every spark of courage in her tiny little body, and pushes open the door.

All she sees is a dark, dusty room. It's empty. She takes a few steps forwards, eyes filled with worry, her doll trailing on the muddy ground behind her. The door slams shut, and Annabeth spins around.

Her small hands wrap around the handle, pulling with all her might, but the door that seemed so fragile before is now as tall and strong as a mountain in Annabeth's eyes. Her shoulders slump as she lets go, leaning against the wall. She's given up. Tears threaten to leak out of her slate grey eyes, until a bright light appears just under her nose, as if it flew there.

She lifts her head, and her mouth drops open. Instead of a solid brick wall, in front of her now stands an alley of trees, jars filled with tiny little lights hanging on almost every branch. The lights move, and even though her mother taught her all about the little fireflies, Annabeth still prefers to think of them as fairies whose wings shimmer and shine with golden light. At the end of the tunnel of trees, more light captures her attention, this time natural sunlight.

With every step the little girl takes, flowers bloom next to the vibrant green leaves, and butterflies take flight in the clear, cloudless blue sky. She is now stumbling down a stone-paved path bordered by bushes and plants, not a weed in sight. Her surroundings seem to constantly morph, every world more lovely and dream-like than the last.

After the flowers, it's giant mushrooms that line the track (Annabeth likes to call them 'pixie houses'). Curious little people sunbathe between them, an old lady by the side of the road selling cupcakes while another man, this one dressed in funny, colorful clothes, his face covered in matching makeup, sells cheese. She continues one her path, her pace quickening when she spots the castle. It's just as majestic as it was in her dreams, just as big, just as tall, just as golden. She enters through a sinister drawbridge, the gate suspended above making her frown and shiver as its spikes reflects the sunlight glinting off the clear blue waters of the moat.

The first room in the great castle is a hall. The walls are adorned with carvings and paintings so old and damaged that for the life of her, Annabeth can't decide what they're supposed to represent.

And, within a meter of the center of the corridor, gilded mirrors seem to float in the air, the entwined gold and silver in their frames undamaged by time. That in itself seems unnatural to her, but the way the golden light outside pours through the slits in the walls that serve as windows and make the metal glint eerily spooks her out just as much.

Suddenly, the rumble of thunder sounds outside and the light turns the silvery-white of lightning before slowly darkening to grey. The same grey as Annabeth's eyes. The mirrors' gilded frames also darken, the metal twisting and churning to form images of tortured, grimacing faces. The reflective glass itself becomes grimy as well, and Annabeth takes a step back frowning worriedly and spinning around.

In the mirrors, faces appear. Annabeth sees the cupcake-selling witch from the pixie house village, the clown with his cheese, the people she once saw sunbathing between the toadstools now floating in darkened mirrors. Their faces begin to twist, blood and grime covering their once clean and colorful clothing, fangs growing between thin, dry lips, nails that were once dirt-free and perfectly manicured turning into yellowish claws growing out of gnarled fingers. Even their hair becomes thin, greasy and dust-covered.

Then, they all disappear. All she sees is the mirrors in the hallway, all she hears is silence. The mirrors glint, and, for the last time, a face appears in them again. It's the angel from the swing near her home. She's looking at Annabeth, her hazel eyes staring deep into Annabeth's grey ones.

Suddenly, the angel's eyes aren't hazel anymore.

They are dark, black holes, swirling as a venomous smile materializes on her face and she seems to pull herself out of the mirror, reaching out towards Annabeth. The worst thing about this monster, however, is that she is still utterly beautiful and completely recognizable. This monster _is_ the angel. And the angel is the little girl's home, reaching out to devour her.

Annabeth screams. Annabeth runs. Fast.

She races out of the castle, over the moat, which is now dark grey and swirling with debris from the crumbling castle. She speeds past the now dead toadstools, through the wilted flowers, and the fairies that don't exist as the gnarled, black branches of the trees grope at her and tear her dress to shreds. Brambles swarm her, scratching every little bit of uncovered skin, grabbing Annabeth's precious doll and forcing it out of her grasp. She pushes the thorns aside to her grab her doll, her hands and face bloodied when she surfaces again.

Finally, she reaches the door and yanks it open, almost tripping out. The world on the other side isn't at all the same as it was when she left, she notices as she runs faster, further. The ponds and streams now run dry, the marshes are now bogs, the meadows are flowerless, and the trees are covered in ivy, slowly dying. In the clearing in front of her home, the man is still digging his eternal hole, but this time, the angel is kneeling next to him, looking into the dark depths of the Earth.

Annabeth can't handle that. The angel never moved from the swing before. Something that is such a huge, regular part of her life has changed, and she doesn't like it. So she closes her eyes and continues to run.

Suddenly, the ground underneath her seemingly disappears, and she's falling. She doesn't want to open her eyes; she's scared.

Then, she hits the bottom. Does she feel any pain? No. She feels nothing, she's numb. She opens her eyes, and realizes three things: one, she fell down the eternal hole the man slaved over every day: two, she had fallen a good fifty feet and there was no blood and no pain; and three, her doll is missing. Oh, sorry, cross that out. Her doll isn't missing anymore: the angel leaned over the edge and tossed it down to her.

She catches her most precious belonging, pulling it near and placing its tiny little plastic hand over her own heart. She looks up, wanting to catch a glimpse of sunlight for the last time. She doesn't see it: the skies are stormy and grey, even here, next to her home.

The last thing Annabeth Chase sees is two pairs of eyes, one pair hazel, the other a startling sea-green. Then, the first shovel of dirt lands on her face.

That day, Annabeth discovered real life.

**Author's Note:**

> The angel (Hayley Williams in the video) is supposed to be Silena Beauregard and the 'man digging the hole' is Percy.


End file.
